# **Chapter 29: An Uninvited Guest**
**Stark Estate — Living Room**
"What do you mean?" Krist asked, his brows knitting together as he set his water bottle on the kitchen counter before going back to the living room.
*"You heard me right the first time,"* Harrison repeated over the phone speaker, his tone stripped of its usual bravado. *"The black sedan that got flipped by that RPG in front of Johnson's park... it's the exact same custom rig Scott rolled up to the academy yesterday."*
Krist's mind raced, analyzing the claim against the footage he had just watched on the news. "How did you reach that conclusion, Harry? Are you certain? Because from the broadcast feed I just reviewed, the vehicle's identification plates were stripped clean before it ever hit the overpass there wasn't anything that could identify the car."
*"I'm positive,"* Harrison replied smoothly. *"And yeah, taking the plates off is standard protocol when corporate clean-up crews do dirty work. That way, if an operation goes south, the vehicle can't be traced back to the parent company through a simple DMV query."*
Harrison sounded unusually confident.
"That still doesn't answer my question," Krist said, walking back toward the dining room. "If the car had no plates, how can you confirm it belonged to Scott?"
There was a brief silence before Harrison chuckled.
"I could explain it... but honestly, I don't think words will do it justice it's easier if I show you." Harrison said. "Hold on, I'm sharing my screen now."
A chime sounded on Krist's phone screen: **[ INCOMING SECURE DISPLAY SHARE — USER: HARRY MY BOY]**.
Krist tapped the screen. The video feed cleared instantly, replacing the news report with high-definition surveillance footage. It wasn't the public highway camera; this clip was shot from a elevated angle overlooking the perimeter gate of the Stark Institute.
In the distance, a sleek black sedan cruised smoothly toward the lens.Just before it passed, the footage froze as Harrison paused the video mid-frame and digitally zoomed in on the car's front end, specifically targeting the lower bumper grille. Deep inside one of the narrow air intake vents sat a tiny, recessed, dark steel cylinder.
"You see that?" Harrison asked.
Krist leaned closer to the high-resolution display. "Yeah. What am I looking at, A hole?"
Harrison grinned.
"That isn't just a hole."
He enlarged the image further.
"That, my friend, is a concealed heavy-caliber defense barrel," Harrison declared. "And that specific mechanical housing is proprietary tech exclusive to Vane Industries."
Krist frowned. "A gun built into the bumper? What's the tactical application?"
"It's the primary reason high-value Vane VIPs almost never get hijacked," Harrison explained eagerly. "It allows the driver to clear roadblocks or neutralize ambushes dead ahead without ever opening a window or exposing themselves to incoming fire. If attackers come from the front, the driver just presses an internal trigger and turns them into swiss cheese. They don't have to exit the vehicle or pull a sidearm. That forward mount gives the driver full defensive suppression. If attackers come from the front, they can clear the lane without ever rolling down a window."
Krist watched the paused frame thoughtfully. "Then why didn't the driver trigger it on the overpass? They were being pursued by a convertible with an RPG."
"Simple spatial physics," Harrison countered. "The barrel is fixed facing forward. The attackers came up from behind them. Plus, firing a classified Vane-patented kinetic barrel on a public highway during a recorded chase would be a dead giveaway of corporate involvement. So it A mix of both, most likely, They probably tried to outrun them to avoid exposing the tech."
Krist crossed his arms. "That sounds like a half-baked defensive design. If you only put weapons on the front, you leave a massive blind spot in the rear. Why wouldn't they install a rear-facing unit to cover a 360-degree perimeter?and they eliminate the blind spot entirely"
*"Ha! You hit the nail on the head,"* Harrison chuckled over the line. *"Though you're touching on the system's biggest design flaw And that's why Stark Tech still holds the edge in tactical engineering. You know Vane outright plagiarized that concept from Stark, right?"
Krist paused, blinking in genuine surprise. "No... I didn't know that. And wait—a second ago you said that feature was exclusive to Vane, now you're saying they stole it from Stark Tech?"
Harrison sighed, shaking his head on the video feed.
Harrison let out a heavy, dramatic sigh over the line. *"Why am I the one giving you a history lesson on your own legacy?! You literally own Stark Tech now since You're literally the sole heir to Stark Tech! Now that your parents are gone... rest their souls... You should be educating me on your family's legacy, not the other way around."
"When exactly are you going to stop turning every conversation into an opportunity to brag? Stop fishing for bragging rights and take this seriously"
"Hey, I'm not bragging." I'm just stating facts," Harrison protested
Krist sighed.
"I don't have all night, Harry."
Harrison quickly cleared his throat. "Look, the point is, Stark Industries was the first to pioneer multi-directional defensive arrays they engineered those systems decades ago—two forward ports, one rear. Full perimeter defense. But your parents only sold those armored variants to the military. Stark never weaponized civilian transports. That's why you don't see street gangs or private corporations driving around with Stark hardware. Vane took the concept, stripped down the security protocols, and slapped it into consumer luxury models so the public would associate the tech with them."
Krist nodded slowly. "So they copied the concept."
"They tried to copy it, But they lacked the technical capability to integrate multi-directional targeting without compromising the chassis" Harrison corrected smugly. "Key word: *tried*. They couldn't replicate Stark tech power-routing algorithms. Vane's electrical architecture can only handle feeding power to one concealed barrel per vehicle chassis without blowing the alternator. Stark Tech's military units had three fully independent barrels—two up front, one in the rear. That's why even after two years of Stark Tech being shut down, your father's engineering still sits light-years ahead of anything Vane puts on the road. Stark remains unmatched, even with the assembly lines shut down."
Krist rubbed his chin. "Alright, history lesson over. What connects this specific school video to the wreck in front of Johnson's park?"
"Check this out," Harrison said.
The shared screen shifted to a second video clip. This one was captured near the entrance of Johnson's Park, just minutes before the high-speed pursuit turned fatal. The camera zoomed directly into the front bumper of the fleeing black sedan. Tucked deep within the lower intake vent was the exact same single-barrel Vane defense port.
"Okay," Krist acknowledged. "That proves the car on the news was a Vane Industries vehicle. But how do you know it was Scott's?"
"Patience, my impatient friend. I'm getting to the grand reveal," Harrison said dramatically.
He switched back to the first video recorded at the academy gates. The camera played as Scott stepped out of the rear passenger door. Just as Scott reached back to slam the door, Harrison froze the frame again and zoomed into the interior of the car. Hanging from the rearview mirror inside the cabin was a distinct silver chain - a finely crafted chain holding a cross pendant cut from an iridescent, light-refracting blue crystal. The material caught the ambient light, refracting it with an unusually high brilliance Even through a camera lens, the high-grade crystal caught the moonlight with an undeniable, brilliant sparkle.
Krist stared at the image. Something about the recording's angle caught his attention."Where did you get this footage?"
A smug grin spread across Harrison's face.
"My drone."
"I recorded it while trying to find another way into the school building the night we broke into Stark Institutions."
"So..."
Krist nodded and asked
"You're the only person who has this recording?"
Harrison's smirk
"100% exclusive to my server."
Krist said quietly. "Now show me the impact frame from the highway report."
"Coming right up," Harrison said.
He pulled up the high-speed highway footage, fast-forwarding to the exact millisecond the mini-rocket struck the rear bumper of the black sedan. The violent force of the kinetic blast blew out the rear windshield, sending glass and debris spraying into the air. Harrison paused the frame mid-explosion and applied a high-contrast filter to the flying shrapnel to enhance the flying debris.
There, caught mid-air amidst the fire and shattered glass, was the exact same silver cross necklace with the shimmering blue crystal pendant, blown free from the rear-view mirror by the shockwave.
Harrison closed the screen-sharing session, returning Krist's phone to its standard interface.
Silence stretched over the line for several long seconds as Krist digested the implications.
"Well?" Harrison finally broke the silence. "What do you think?"
A faint, cold smile spread across Krist's face. "Harry... do you know the absolute best way to play the villain?"
"No, I don't"
Harrison frowned.
"And I'm not planning to become one either."
Krist chuckled softly—a quiet, dark sound. "I'll give you the golden rule for free: The absolute best way to be a villain... is to convince everyone you're the hero."
"The best villain..."
"...is someone everyone mistakes for a hero."
Harrison stared at him. "That makes zero sense."
"You'll understand soon enough," Krist murmured. "As for Vane Industries... They won't take the fall for this—nobody can prove intent, and even if they try, corporate PR will bury it. The heat is going to land entirely on the syndicate gangs."
"Which isn't entirely bad for us," Harrison noted. "If the syndicates think Vane is moving on their turf, we get a full-scale underworld war that keeps Vane's security forces distracted..."
"Harry," Krist interrupted abruptly, his voice dropping an octave. "Send those two raw video files directly to me."
Krist ignored Harrison's voice coming through the earpiece. His eyes were no longer on his phone screen. They were locked onto the back kitchen door leading out to the courtyard.
His tone had shifted instantly—crisp, low, and devoid of humor. His gaze drifted away from the monitor, locking onto the kitchen doorway the door which he had securely latched after feeding the prisoners, was now sitting a fraction of an inch ajar.
"Krist? You still there?" Harrison's voice buzzed through the speaker, but Krist was already moving.
Without breaking eye contact with the doorway,
Keeping his movements entirely fluid and unsuspicious, Krist leaned forward toward the living room coffee table as if to set down his plate of food. As his right hand rested the plate smoothly on the wood, his left hand darted beneath the recessed lip of the table frame.
With practiced, silent precision, his fingers found the magnetic holster mounted underneath, unclipping a ultra-compact concealed firearm—a weapon so small and low-profile it could easily be mistaken for a key fob. In one continuous motion, he slid the piece into his hoodie pocket. Anyone watching from a distance wouldn't have noticed a single break in his rhythm.
Krist stood up smoothly. He walked over to the long hardwood media console positioned beneath the mounted television—a custom piece where they kept remotes, chargers, and decorative items.
Resting on the corner was an ornamental wooden rod, beautifully carved and polished to blend seamlessly into the console's aesthetic.
Krist casually picked up the heavy wooden rod, balancing it in his hands like a short martial baton. He stepped silently into the kitchen, his rubber-soled shoes making zero sound against the tile.
Reaching the back door, he poked his head out slightly, scanning the narrow corridor and the courtyard outside. Left. Right. Nothing. The yard was empty, the shadows still.
He pulled back inside and clicked the kitchen door shut, locking the deadbolt.
Then he turned.
As if preparing to continue his search.
Suddenly...
He stopped.
adjusting his grip on the wooden baton—sliding his left hand up to the midpoint, balancing the weight between both palms.
"Entering my house..."
"...has reduced your chances of escaping..."
"...from eighteen percent..."
"...to zero point five."
The grin widened.
"Amateur."
The single word dripped with contempt.
He tightened his grip.
Then—
**THUD!**
he slammed his right boot hard onto the floorboard, activating the hidden mechanical lock sequence of the house.